


toothpaste kisses

by rosytonics



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Early Mornings, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-09 21:52:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17413409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosytonics/pseuds/rosytonics
Summary: “You’re lucky you’re cute.”Luke gives a happy wiggle and leans down to kiss him again. He tastes like toothpaste. “I know.”





	toothpaste kisses

**Author's Note:**

> hooray for lazy skysolo mornings ! i wrote this as a gift for my dear friend @captaindog, who requested it on tumblr! i hope you like it ! ♡

Han is in the middle of having the best dream of his life—something about flying a spaceship, and winning a medal of some kind, but he’ll forget it the second his eyes open—when something heavy and soft lands on top of him with a _whump_. 

 

“WHU”— Han’s whole body bounces with the impact and he jolts awake, trying to get his bearings straight. Next thing he knows, there’s a head of blonde hair under his chin and a smile pressed to his neck. 

 

“Good morning,” Luke mumbles as he presses a kiss to his jaw. He grins up at him with the smile of a cat who’s about to knock something off the table right after you tell it _“Don’t you dare knock that thing over!”_ —and, like the cat, he knows he’s not going to get in trouble because he’s too damn cute. 

 

Han hates it. He loves it, because who wouldn’t, but he hates that all Luke has to do is flutter his long eyelashes, and Han will launch himself into a sub-zero tundra or oncoming traffic. His nose is cold, probably from his morning run, and it makes Han tense just a little as Luke nuzzles his neck. 

 

“Ugh,” is all he can say back, bleary eyes blinking into focus. He intends to ask _what time is it_ , but the mouthful of hair and the grogginess muddles everything up. Instead, it comes out as “ _Whassimes’t?_ ” 

 

Luke seems to understand. 

 

“It’s nine thirty.” He sits up and straddles Han’s hips, his chilly hands sliding under his shirt and rubbing along his belly. “I let you sleep in.” 

 

“You _let_ me sleep i— _yow!_ ” Wriggling, Han shoves at Luke’s arms and lets out a shriek. “Cold! Out! Get out!” If there’s one thing he hates, it’s the cold. That isn’t to say that he doesn’t hate other things. He hates lots of things; he hates traffic, he hates taxes, and he hates when his socks get wet. Oh, and he hates fascism, and bigotry, and this _stupid_ government shutdown (and the stupid government just in general)—and all those things are a helluva a lot worse than some cold hands touching his squishy parts. Luke laughs and withdraws his hands and Han sends him a mild glare. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” 

 

Luke gives a happy wiggle and leans down to kiss him again. He tastes like toothpaste. “I know.” 

 

Han rolls his eyes as Luke presses chilly kisses all over his face. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters fondly, “So modest, ain’t you?” His halfhearted frown eventually melts into a lazy smile and he gently grabs Luke’s cheeks, all cold and rosy, and kisses him back. “For your sake, I hope you made me breakfast.” 

 

Pulling back from the kiss, Luke wrinkles his nose and smiles. “No—I’m just gonna let you starve to death. Yes, I made you breakfast.” 

 

Han lifts an eyebrow. He was joking, because Luke Skywalker can’t cook to save his life. “Is it a cold Pop Tart on a plate?” he asks skeptically. Luke’s baby blues flicker back and forth to indicate that he’s lying when he purses his lips and mumbles 

 

“No…” 

 

“Hey.” Han gently grabs him by the chin and presses his thumb into his dimple. “Don’t lie to me, babe.” 

 

“I’m not!” Luke whines, “It’s not a cold Pop Tart on a plate.” He rolls out of bed and heads for the kitchen, still in his sweatpants and one of Han’s t-shirts. It makes Han’s heart do this weird grabby thing. 

 

_That’s mine_ , he thinks. He’s not sure if he’s talking about the shirt or his boyfriend. He wraps their blanket around his shoulders and drags it behind him as he shuffles to the kitchen. 

 

“Wow, you were right.” Han gives a low, sarcastic whistle as he eyes the kitchen table. “It’s _not_ a cold Pop Tart on a plate. It’s _two_ cold Pop Tarts on a plate. What a feast.” 

 

Luke gives him a swat on the hip. “I’m trying, okay? Cooking just…” He gives a shrug. “Isn’t one of my strengths.” 

 

Han sits down at the table and re-bundles himself back up in his blanket cocoon. When he emerges, he’s not gonna be a beautiful butterfly. He’s just gonna be sweaty and in his underwear. “Putting something in the toaster isn’t cooking,” he replies, but picks up the first Pop Tart and takes a bite anyway. He pushes the other one towards Luke. “Sit and eat, will ya?” 

 

“Okay, fine.” He smiles and sits down across from him and picks the Pop Tart up off the plate. He breaks off a piece and pops it into his mouth. “Happy?” 

 

Han nudges his leg with his toes. “You have no idea.” 


End file.
